


Scripture

by Fritillary



Category: Myst Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fritillary/pseuds/Fritillary
Summary: Catherine always wanted to be an artist – taking pleasure in the shape and design of the letters that made each world as an art-form of their very own.





	Scripture

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal, originally written 31/Oct/2009
> 
> Prompt: #171 - bastard ("bastarda" - gothic script used for minor documents in 14th century europe) (tamingthemuse ) and unthemed #1: prompt9 - waiting (mission_insane )  
> Warnings: minor spoilers for Book of Ti'ana.

Candlelight flickered over the walls, etching patterns of shadow like scripture onto the old grey stone. Most of the lanterns had long since been extinguished, and now only the small lamp on Catherine’s desk remained alight, its tiny flame doing little to illuminate the majority of the enormous room. She shivered, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, anxious that she complete the task set before anyone came to check on her progress. Her handwriting had been forced to improve dramatically since being taught the strange swirling script of the D’ni, as the Linking Book were reliant upon legible script.

Atrus had told her of how one of his earliest experiments had been burnt by his father; Gehn complaining that the boy’s script had been so inelegant that the words had become confused and would have constructed an Age of chaotic unpredictability. After her own first trials at Writing, and seeing just how much was possible, Catherine had mused on what Atrus’ first muddled attempt would have truly been like beyond the link – perhaps more akin to her own fantastical creations than his usual orderly constructions.

Although her Love’s Ages always showed a beauty and thoughtfulness that characterised himself, Catherine sometimes wished that he would allow his dreams free reign as she had tried to – to build an Age that defied the laws that governed so many worlds, and made the eye wonder at what it beheld. He lacked the freedom of imagination she had felt herself gifted with from birth; he was a builder or an architect – his mind made to design with care and precision, following the laid-out rules of previous attempts; while Catherine always wanted to be an artist – taking pleasure in the shape and design of the letters that made each world as an art-form of their very own.

Catherine had listened with delight to Atrus’ tales of his grandmother Anna; another artist seemingly after Catherine’s own heart. Atrus had described her as a figure of strength and knowledge; one who held her world about her like a cloak and embroidered the pattern of her life onto its cloth, influencing everything she touched, and making it an artwork as beautiful as her imagination could conceive. How the Rivenese girl longed to meet this woman.

Catherine finished the final letter on the page with a sweeping curve and set her fine pen to one side. Holding her dark hair back from the damp page with her fingers, she blew gently on the last few lines to help the gleaming ink dry, watching the blue-black colour seep into the parchment. Reaching into the shallow bowl set into the top of the desk she sat at, Catherine lifted out a small handful of fine white sand she and one of Gehn’s other students had fetched from the Age of Remedan’s shores a few days earlier. Sprinkling a pinch of the sand over the page turned patches of the grains a deep blue as they quickly soaked up excess ink still marking the lettering, helping preventing smudging which could also disrupt the Link (and incite Gehn’s rage).

Catherine wiped her ink-stained fingers absently on her dress to remove any wet ink, before picking up the sand-covered page and tipping the sand carefully off into a well on the far side of the desk, giving the parchment a gentle shake to detach any grains that stuck to the ink. She set the page between sheets of rough blotting paper and slipped the entire thing into a loose-leaf book that lay waiting for more pages; a Descriptive Book in construction, half-filled with D’ni script in Catherine’s careful hand, every phrase blending together to make a world come to life.


End file.
